


the shape of the storm

by pendules



Series: the shape of the storm [1]
Category: Social Network (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-19
Updated: 2011-02-19
Packaged: 2017-10-15 18:42:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/163753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pendules/pseuds/pendules
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Eduardo really hates the rain, now. It, like everything else, is Mark's fault.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	the shape of the storm

Eduardo really hates the rain, now. It, like everything else, is Mark's fault.

He used to love the rain. The New York rain, thin but fierce, that could cut you to the core. The California rain, saturated and heavy. The rain in Cambridge, always cold, always stinging, whether you were being hazed in your underwear or not. The Miami rain, almost tropical, but still not like— The rain in Brazil, warm and gentle, always reminding him of barefooted kids playing football in the mud. He probably likes that the most. He used to love waking up in hotel rooms and being able to identify where he was from the streaks on the windowpane, the direction of the wind, the shape of the storm. Meteorology's more useful than just for telling you if you should walk with an umbrella tomorrow. Much more useful.

He wishes he could predict people as easily, though. Maybe then he would've avoided this whole mess.

 

The first time it happens is the first time Eduardo falls asleep in his room. On Mark's bed, to be more specific.

Mark has been wired in for at least four hours, chugging coffee, and not noticing that Eduardo's books have been abandoned, along with his shoes at some point, and he's now slobbering all over Mark's pillow. Well, not slobbering. But there's a high probability of _some_ drool, at least.

He only notices when he unplugs. He surveys Eduardo's long form sprawled diagonally across his comforter for a moment.

"Wardo. Wardo," he says, shaking his shoulder gently.

His eyes open, blearily. He sits up.

"Oh. Sorry." Then, "How's it going?" And Mark has to think for a second before he realises he's talking about The Facebook, talking about his project, _their_ project.

"Oh, it's, you know. It's getting there." He's actually quite frustrated with one of the kinks in the code, right now. But it's not - it's not Eduardo's problem. He probably won't understand anyway. And he'll fix it in the morning. Everything will be fine in the morning.

Eduardo smiles then, a bit sleepily, and says, "Good."

Maybe it's the way his hair is sticking up in all directions, or how startlingly dull his huge eyes are (like blown-out light bulbs), or the fact that he cares, genuinely cares, that Mark is happy. But Mark kisses him then. He thinks Eduardo mutters something into his mouth, and maybe it's, _My breath stinks_ , or, _No, we can't do this_ , but Mark doesn't pay any attention (he's kind of good at that). And Eduardo doesn't pull away either.

 

Eduardo has a habit of coming into the office when Mark isn't there. It happens for about two years after the lawsuit is over. He doesn't call him. He sends him professional, courteous emails. And Mark replies, just as professionally and courteously. Maybe they border on passive-aggressive sometimes, but okay. He's allowed that. Sometimes he types out long, essay-like chunks of text, containing mostly questions. Questions neither of them can probably ever answer. He always deletes all of it. He goes to sleep and tries to drown out the raindrops pounding on the rooftop.

 

Mark types only one thing he never sends:

 _Maybe I had to test this, like you would test an algorithm. Maybe I had to see if I could screw you out of a multibillion dollar company and still have you not hate me. Maybe I had to push this to see how far it would go before it broke._

 

The first time they talk again in a social context is at some company party they're both absolutely required to attend.

He sees Eduardo, and he's chatting with one of the interns. And he's smiling. And Mark hasn't seen that in two years.

Eduardo seems to sense him looking and his eyes meet Mark's now. And his smile fades quickly.

(He remembers his smile outside the bathroom in the restaurant that one time.)

That smile's not for him anymore.

Mark misses that smile like Eduardo misses enjoying the rain.

 

Mark is standing on the balcony when Eduardo joins him.

"Nice view."

"Yeah."

Mark almost thinks he's going to say, "Remember the algorithm on the window at Kirkland?" But he doesn't.

Instead, he says, "So. How's it going?"

Maybe he's asking about the company. Again. Or maybe he's not. (Because he knows about the company. It's the only link between them now. And it's all business. Not like it was in the beginning. Not like when it was about Eduardo caring about Mark's idea _because_ it was Mark's.)

"It's fine. I'm fine. And you?"

"I'm doing okay."

And there's nothing else there. Not really. There hasn't been for two years. All there could be is, _Remember the algorithm. Or remember that time I kissed you for no reason. Or the morning after, when I sucked you off. Or the time I broke your heart, because I could._

They notice, then, that a slight drizzle starts.

"I really hate the rain," Eduardo mutters.

"There's nothing bad about rain. It's just precipitation. It's just cold water. There's nothing sad about that."

Like always, he misses the point.

He wants to say, _I hate it because I can't hate you. You asshole._

 

It's the first email from Eduardo, in a year maybe, that has nothing to do with business.

"You're never going to say sorry, are you."

The lack of question mark answers the question for him. He's frustrated. He's looking for an explanation. He's looking for a reason. Not for Mark's actions. But his own. For his own feelings.

Mark can't give him that. Mark doesn't know. He hates that he doesn't know. He hates not understanding Eduardo. (He doesn't understand why Eduardo still doesn't hate him. Not really. He doesn't understand why he trusted him in the first place.) But that, that was probably why he was his friend. And it's definitely why he screwed him over, afterwards.

He considers a few responses. He considers, _I never had to before._ He considers, _But I'm not._

In the end, he types seven words, clicks on send, and closes his laptop.

 

Eduardo's computer pings at the arrival of a new message. He opens the email from Mark, and just stares at the words for a long while.

"I never said I love you, either."

 

Outside, he notices, it's raining.

But the sun is out, too.


End file.
